Killing Me Softly
by nebulast
Summary: On his sixteenth birthday, Draco gets a Dark Mark and an impossible mission. The order is simple, only three words: Kill Harry Potter. 6th Year AU where Draco is tasked with killing Harry instead of Dumbledore. Drarry fic
1. Chapter 1

_First Drarry fic, so I'm hoping it doesn't end up too horrible. Anyway, characters and settings aren't mine, you guys know the drill._

 _Enjoy!_

/

The harsh wind and rain bounce sharply off the stained glass that overlooks a seemingly endless dining table. A grand chandelier hangs on the high ceiling, dimly illuminating the room and causing everything to cast long, dark shadows. On one end of the polished black expanse sit three people, each with the same platinum blonde hair and solemn expression. They all wear fine dark silk and are bedecked in jewelry that all appear to be family heirlooms. Their posture is stiff and their are shoulders tense, their delicate features are locked into an expression so frosty, the only indication that they are indeed living people and not ornate porcelain dolls are the occasional blink and intake of breath. The entire manor is silent, the only sounds that can be heard are the raindrops and the quiet tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hall. No one says anything.

Draco grips the armrests of his chair until his knuckles are practically translucent and fights off the urge to empty the contents of his stomach all over the floor. He can confidently say that this will be the worst birthday of his entire life.

Narcissa Malfoy quietly reaches out to place her cold hand on top of her son's clenched one. Draco looks down to see her rub her thumb soothingly against the back of his hand. Their hands are stark against the dark bleakness of their surroundings and their clothes.

She smiles softly at him, that calming motherly smile that says " _Don't worry, everything will be just fine."_ But Draco can see right through her façade. He can see the slight tremble of her lips, the redness and puffiness of her eyes, and he can see how her other hand is digging into the table cloth, holding on for dear life. It's not a smile, it's a cry for help.

Draco thinks he will actually throw up now.

Somehow, he steels himself and forces a shuddering breath through his lips that almost turns into a hysterical sound. He looks to his father, and is surprised by the sight that greets him.

Lucius Malfoy has always been steely, smug, haughty, and self-assured. This is a man who holds a position in the Ministry second only to the Minister, a man who is the leader of one of the oldest and prestigious wizarding families in Great Britain, and a man who will pay anything and do anything to get what he wants. That is not the man that Draco looks at now.

His father seems... un-composed. There is a five o clock shadow on Lucius's face that Draco has never seen before in his life. His hair, usually done in a meticulously neat and polished ponytail, is fraying at the sides of his face, which is when Draco notices that the hairs are not platinum blonde, but white. Lucius's eyes try to maintain a steady gaze at the space in front of him, but they keep flitting nervously to the sides, as if something is about to pounce on him. It's a sight that makes Draco more on edge than he already is.

The tension in the large room is palpable that one could slice through it like a knife through butter. The entire Malfoy family clenches down, waiting, all on the verge of a mental breakdown.

The polite ring of the doorbell shocks them all out of their reverie

They all look to each other frantically, startled and confused. Does the Dark Lord ring doorbells? Doesn't he just waltz in like the fear inspiring entity that he is? Who else could it possibly be?

A split second of nothing passes by and is suddenly interrupted by the loud scraping of a chair on marble floor.

"I-I will go see who is at the door" Lucius chokes out, grabbing his serpent head cane with him. He steps quickly out of the room, his dark cloak flowing behind him as he turns the corner and escapes their sight.

After Lucius leaves, everything is silent for a moment. Mother and son wait with bated breath to hear who is at the door.

They hear the creaking of the large oak doors being opened, and hushed conversation between Draco's father and a chilling, faceless voice. Suddenly, Draco hears a distinctive wild and malicious cackle that could only come from one woman.

"I believe that is my sister, your Aunt Bellatrix, at the door Draco." Narcissa looks to be on the verge of tears.

Draco grabs hold of the hand resting on top of his, trying to anchor himself. The entire situation is surreal to him. He feels like nothing s real and that he could just tear himself up into tiny little pieces, like paper, and just hide someplace. He only wishes it were so.

As the sound of footsteps draw nearer and nearer to the dining hall,

Draco feels like something is slowly crawling up his spine.

First to enter the room is Draco's father, looking nothing short of terrified, closely followed by a disturbingly eager looking and unbridled Bellatrix Lestrange. She walks up to Draco and his mother, giving each of them an enthusiastic peck on the cheek. The kiss feels like a death sentence on Draco's skin

"Sister dear! How lovely it is to see you again, you're looking quite well." Bellatrix turns her dark mop of curls towards Draco, a wild look in her eyes.

"And Draco! My sweet nephew, how much you've grown over these past few years. Yes, a fine young wizard. You shall make a good addition to our ranks, yes?"

Draco struggles to meet her eyes as he speaks

"My only hope is to be able to serve the Dark Lord and support his noble cause to the best of my abilities."

"I am glad to hear that"

At the sound of those words, all the heads in the room bow down, a reverent greeting of "My Lord" coming from each person. Draco still has his head facing the floor as he hears the Dark Lord approach him. He trembles with fear and anticipation.

A hand rests on Draco's shoulder, and long, pale, spindly fingers that are impossibly cool to the touch tilt his head up until he is staring eye to eye with the devil himself.

The eyes are the first thing that Draco notices. They are more like thin slits rather than eyes, his irises colored an inhuman shade of crimson red. The Dark Lord's skin is pale and pasty and almost translucent, he can see the blue and red of his veins running down his neck. His cheekbones jut out of his face, looking more like knives rather than a facial feature. Thin lips are turned up at the sides in a chilling smile that makes Draco feel a sense of unease on a whole different level. This is the face of his new leader, his new god.

"Those in my service who show me unwavering loyalty will be greatly rewarded. Those who fail will not be granted a place in my new world. I wonder, which one are you Draco Malfoy?"

Draco puts on a blank face, hoping to shield his terror from the Dark Lord's prying eyes. His close proximity only makes this harder.

"My Lord, I am willing to do whatever it takes to serve you faithfully and carry out your will. I promise you, I shall not fail."

The Dark Lord steps back, seemingly pleased with Draco's answer. Draco finally releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and looks at his mother, who is nodding at him in encouragement.

"I suppose we shall see. The ceremony will begin now." says the Dark Lord, and he offers a pale hand to Draco.

Every single nerve in Draco's body is screaming at him to say no, to just push him away and run as fast as he can. Instead, Draco obediently presents his left forearm to the Dark Lord. Bellatrix slides up to the Dark Lord's side and places her wand on top of Draco's arm

"Deliver your oath and declare your loyalty" she hisses at him.

Draco looks at his parents and then back at Bellatrix. His entire body feels numb and overwhelmed with fear at the same time- He barely even notices the words that leave his lips.

 _"Dico animo corpus et animam in domino obscuro._

 _Voluntas voluntatem meam_

 _Est vita tua_

 _Et serviet tibi usque in finem dierum._

 _Donec tandem vicit mortem."_

 _"Mosmorde"_

When he finishes, Draco watches in undisguised horror as a dark snake bursts from the tip of Bellatrix's wand and wraps itself around his forearm. He can _feel_ the creature slither up his arm, and when it bites at his skin, Draco jumps at the pain.

Suddenly, a slow burning sensation sits right in the middle of his forearm, which soon turns into a searing pain. Draco clenches his knuckles so hard that he can feel his fingernails digging into his palm. A bright light sprouts from his arm and suddenly, Draco can barely stand up because it feels like someone is carving into his skin, his bones, his very _soul,_ with a flaming hot knife. Draco screams but it sounds distant to him.

The pain doesn't dissipate. Draco can see a skull being branded onto his skin through the light. His knees buckle and he hits the ground hard but Draco doesn't notice. His entire world has dimmed down to the one spot on his left arm.

It ends as suddenly as it began. Draco looks down as the snake slithers up to the still burning skull, embracing it like a lover. Blood trickles from his palm as Draco slowly picks himself off the ground. Narcissa rushes over to her son, who leans heavily on her as she helps him up.

The Dark Lord replaces his look of mild annoyance with an unnerving smile as he looks at Draco.

"Congratulations Draco Malfoy. You are now an official Death Eater. Now that we have that out of the way, I believe you and I have something of great importance to discuss."

Draco looks up at Lord Voldemort's smiling face and tries not to puke all over the carpet.

 _Well, Happy fucking Birthday to me._

 _/_

 _Reviews are love!_

 _Sorry about the terrible Latin, I just used Google translate so it's probably completely unrecognizable, but oh well._


	2. Chapter 2

Draco remembers the first time he had ever met Harry Potter.

At first glance Potter seemed completely unassuming, if not a bit odd and scruffy looking. He was turned away from him at the time, so all Draco could see was a mop of unruly, jet black hair and a comically large t-shirt sitting limply on a skinny frame. When he turned around, Draco also caught a glimpse of eye-catching emerald eyes framed by large spectacles threatening to fall apart, and the beginnings of a scar that reminded him of a story he had heard many times over. Draco never would have thought that he was looking at the famed Harry Potter, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord while he was still wearing diapers.

He remembers making small talk with the bespectacled boy while a seamstress pokes Draco with numerous pins and needles and his mother is off cooing at some dress robes. It's not a particularly enlightening or memorable conversation and Draco forgets all about the boy with the glasses the next day.

At King's Cross before his first year at Hogwarts his mother bids Draco farewell with a tearful kiss that he shrugs away. He gets an appraising and expectant look from his father.

"Make this family proud." he says, and then Lucius Malfoy walks away with Draco's misty eyed mother in tow.

Draco sees the boy with the glasses again boarding the train and vaguely recognizes him. Whispers on the train inform him that four eyes, the timid little boy in the robe shop, is in fact Harry Potter, the legendary infant conqueror of the Dark Lord and hero of the wizarding world. This time Draco remembers him. He takes time cataloguing his appearance, committing it to memory. Draco takes note of Potter's chosen company with a sneer but decides that he will make a useful and good ally no matter the friends he chooses. Besides, he can still show him better options.

Sometimes Draco still wonders what could have happened if Harry Potter had taken his hand.

* * *

A sixteen year old Draco Malfoy stumbles out onto the manor grounds, scattering a small flock of white peacocks, and promptly pukes all over one of his mother's beloved rose bushes. He falls to his knees, suddenly feeling extremely weak, and attempts to spit out the rancid taste of his own vomit into the grass. While trying to hyperventilate as quietly as possible into a small patch of germaniums, Draco tries to comprehend the events of the past thirty minutes.

 _Lord Voldemort occupies the tall dark dining chair like it is a throne._

 _Standing in front of him with his head bowed, Draco feels like a newly condemned prisoner awaiting his sentence._

 _"You see Draco," the Dark Lord starts, artfully twirling his wand "I have decided to gift you with the responsibility of doing a very special task, one that will be invaluable to our cause. You are a student at Hogwarts, and this puts you in a very unique position. In your current position, you can still be guaranteed the protection and concern of Albus Dumbledore, and we intend to take advantage of this weakness of his. Under the guise of regular sixth year student, you will be completing a mission that will determine the true strength of your loyalty and devotion to myself, and to our cause."_

 _Draco mulls over his next words carefully. Whatever will piss him off the least usually works best. "Anything you will ask of me my Lord, consider it done." He tries to sound as earnest as possible._

 _"I am pleased to hear that. However, I must give you a fair warning. This is a task that will require no small amount of strategy and finesse. It must be done perfectly, anything less than will jeopardize the plans that I have already laid out. There can be no mistakes or complications."_

 _"I understand, my Lord." Draco locks his hands behind his back in order to avoid nervously toying with the sleeves of his heavy dark robe._

 _What could Lord Voldemort possibly want from him? Draco was only officially recruited literal minutes ago, the Dark Mark still burning hot on his left forearm, his skin not yet used to the tattoo's presence. Modesty aside, he does think himself to be quite clever and resourceful. But regular Slytherin traits shouldn't make him capable of any important tasks just yet, "unique position" be damned. Perhaps it has something to do with his family name? But that would be a task better appointed to his father, the head of their family. Recruitment seems to be the only obvious option to Draco. Over the years, he has been able to accumulate a fair amount of popularity and influence over the Slytherin population. Perhaps the Dark Lord was looking to gather up some young, fanatic supporters, extend his personality cult to a younger generation. He supposes it makes sense, to have a group of avid followers in Hogwarts. Better to start the brainwashing while they're still young. Does the Dark Lord plan to train them to fight, like some sort of armed militia working undercover at Hogwarts, waiting for the right moment to strike? A twisted, copy-cat version of the mess that was last year's Dumbledore's Army? What would they call it? Death Eaters Junior? Death Eater Youth Club? Essential to the cause indeed. Maybe he just-_

 _"I want you to exterminate Harry Potter" Lord Voldemort says loudly and clearly._

 _There is no waver or hesitation in the Dark Lord's voice. No possible mispronunciation or mumbling in that one sentence, nothing that can prove any miscommunication or that Draco had simply misheard what he had just said._

 _Draco wants to say something. Anything. He wants to ask the Dark Lord to repeat that one more time please, because there can be no way in hell that Draco had really just heard that. He wants to tell Lord Voldemort to cut the shit and tell him what the hell he's really supposed to be doing. Draco wants to laugh in his face. He wants to fall to his knees and start crying. Draco wants to start laughing and crying all at the same time because this is honestly the most ridiculous day of his entire life and it just keeps getting continuously worse. At this rate, he'll probably be dead in a ditch in the middle of nowhere by dinner time._

 _By some sort of miracle or other form of divine intervention, Draco manages not to spontaneously burst into hysterics. He's still standing, and does not appear to be crying, laughing, or doing any combination of the two. In fact, Draco even manages a small sliver of a smile._

 _"With pleasure, my Lord."_

"Draco!" says a distant voice, sounding quite frantic.

"Draco!" he hears it again coming closer, but not quite. Like that time from when he was seven and he went swimming at their villa on the Amalfi coast. Submerged in seawater, all the sounds that he heard from above the shallow water were all muddled, like he could sort of hear the sounds but couldn't really get a sense of what they meant.

"Draco!" and suddenly everything comes into focus again. He resurfaces from the figurative water and sees his mother running towards him in a whirl of bouncing black silk and monochromatic hair.

He looks up to find himself crouching on the ground with tear stains on his cheeks and grass stains on his bespoke trousers, holding on to bunches of yellow carnations for dear life. Draco is surrounded by smooth black sleeves and a faint flowery scent as Narcissa Malfoy wraps her arms around her son, tears flowing from her own eyes as well.

Lucius Malfoy watches his family through a tall window from the dining area, face ashen and eyes weary.

He has to kill Harry Potter by the end of the year. Harry. Potter. He has to be dead before the end of sixth year and Draco must be the one to do it. Oh God, what if he can't- what if something goes wrong and he gets caught and his entire family dies because of his failure? Merlin, he has to _kill_ Harry Potter. Well, it's not exactly like Draco is overly fond of that virtuous, scar faced prick, but that doesn't mean he want to literally _murder_ him. He's screwed. Fuck, out of all the people he had to kill just had to be Potter. Fuck. FUCK.

"My son, my boy. How could he have done this to you? To us? This can't be true. My god, you're just a boy! My boy, my only son!" His mother whispers to him in between rough sniffles, her usually steely eyes shiny with tears and her pale hands clutching at Draco's jacket as if he would be snatched away from her at any time.

And then, it's like a switch being flicked. Draco gets very, very angry. In fact, he is royally pissed.

Because this is just so fucking unfair. Because yes, he is just a boy and he shouldn't be doing shit like this. Because despite all the hate and the resent and the yes, he admits it, the fucking jealousy he has with Potter he has no desire to murder him at all. Because despite the burning permanent reminder on his forearm and the color of his school ties, he does not want to see this psychopathic mass murderer rule the world. Because he's _sixteen_ for fuck's sake, and the only thing he wants to do is pass his NEWTS and hang out with his mates and play Quidditch and shag someone who is not Pansy Parkinson. He's just so goddamn angry and burning hot tears are steaming down his face again and he's tearing apart, clawing at the carnations in his hands. Draco just wants, for once in is life, to live without Voldemort's shadow always looming over him. But now he has to kill someone and then continue to waste his life fighting for a cause he doesn't believe in and for a leader he is scared to death of and now he's just really fucking pissed because _this is just so unfair._

Draco decides to throw any shred of dignity aside and falls apart in the arms of his mother. He feels like a boy again, sobbing in his mother's lap after a nasty fall or a fight with his father. Except this time there is a scalding tattoo on his forearm and his fingernails are caked with blood and Draco honestly cannot see how this is supposed to get any better.

 _Oh,_ he thinks to himself with a sense of finality, _I'm fucked._


End file.
